However many Edinburgh Festivals you’ve been around for (see above) it still has the ability to catch you unawares. Though as I write, I’ve found myself with an unexpected opportunity to get into the spirit of it, as I crouch in the vestibule end of an overcrowded, overheating train, my face around six inches from a stranger’s armpit. All I need now is for someone to scatter a selection of unwanted flyers over the few remaining patches of floor space and I’ll be right in the mood.

There are other times of the year – a home Six Nations weekend, say – when Edinburgh might fleetingly feel as busy as it does in August. The difference in that case, though, is that come Sunday afternoon, the visiting revellers head for the stations and airports, warm cans of leftover Tennent’s in hand, and something approaching calm descends upon the city again.

At Festival time, there’s no such respite. Instead, this city of a thousand bottlenecks is left to perform its annual conjuring trick of not quite collapsing in on itself, not just for a couple of days but for an entire flipping month.

Nonetheless, even at this crazy time, there are oases of calm to be found if you only know where to look. For instance, attend a comedy show by anyone who’s never been on Taskmaster or Would I Lie to You? and you’re likely to have more than enough room to stretch out and relax. Though good luck with walking back home without being accosted by a dozen other comedians, who’ve also never been on Taskmaster or Would I Lie to You?, desperately trying to get bums on seats for their own shows.

But even if we manage to forget – or perhaps I should say bury – elements of the Edinburgh experience between one summer and the next, there are certain hardy perennials upon which we can safely rely.

The ‘funniest joke’ award will be awarded to a gag that, in written form and stripped of any relevant context, would have been summarily rejected for publication in Viz, and would only be about 50/50 for Take a Break.

The winning comedian, who barely remembers writing the throwaway line that was randomly deemed the single most hilarious in over a thousand comedy shows, will pose awkwardly with a cheap trophy and a rictus grin, as if trying to calculate whether the prize money and publicity is going to be worth the reputational damage.

And sure enough, the very next day, twenty columnists will publish twenty near-identical articles about how unfunny the so-called funniest joke was.

Elsewhere, courtesy of the early deadlines for finalising flyer designs and Fringe programme entries, keep an eye out for shows that seemed like a good idea at the time. In which context, spare a thought for the performer who spent hundreds of hours honing an elaborate satire of the ill-fated Willy Wonka Experience, only to discover that virtually nobody remembers the ill-fated Willy Wonka Experience.

And the handful of people who do remember it are too preoccupied with the prospect of a nuclear winter to engage fully with the subject. Perhaps they’ll be more interested in the one-woman show by a Kamala Harris impersonator, which necessarily begins with a lengthy reminder of who Kamala Harris is.

Beyond comedy, be sure to head to George Square, where the competition for the coveted ‘Priciest Street Food’ award is expected to be as lively as ever. Three-time winner Bare-Faced Chic is an early favourite with its trademark Extortion Burger, which with all optional toppings included (spiralised halloumi, nduja marshmallows, smashed gerbil) comes in at a highly competitive £34.70.

But if you’d like a single piece of serious advice about the Fringe, it would be to embrace it. It’s wild to have this world-leading explosion of culture on our doorsteps each year. And it’s understandable – but still wild – that we so frequently find cause to complain about that fact. Understandable because there are only so many hour-long cross-town bus journeys that one person can take. But still wild because – well, just take a look around.

Thousands of the greatest exponents of almost every art form imaginable, all descending on this little city to perform daily for a month. Few cities, even ones ten times the size, can boast anything close.

For all the inherent frustrations, that’s got to be worth the pain of the occasional circus clown unicycling backwards over your foot.